Yesterday, I went downhill skiing for the first time. I grew up skiing cross-country in the Chicago suburbs every winter -- we even had our own skis -- but my dad forbade us from downhill skiing. He is a doctor and had seen too many injuries to feel comfortable about it.
So I have always looked at skiing as something that other people did. It was too expensive, too cumbersome, and too dangerous. I love the snow, and I have taken my kids to the mountains for sledding, etc., for several winters in a row, but I had never tried downhill skiing.
To make a long story short, a unique opportunity arose on Thursday. There seemed to be a break in the rainy, snowy weather; the schools were on strike; and there is a new airline, Advanced Air, that runs a daily flight to and from L.A. and Mammoth Mountain, up north.
I decided to take the plunge -- and it was expensive -- and brought my two elder children along. Initially I had just wanted to see the snow, but then I thought of signing them up for ski lessons; they, at least, should learn. And then I thought: why shouldn't I try, too?
So I scheduled a lesson. And I nearly missed it: the rentals and so on took so long that by the time I had taken my kids to their lessons, I was already 45 minutes late for mine. But I met a kind ski instructor who agreed to teach me -- starting from the most basic skills.
I learned quickly. (She told me that I was the quickest student she had ever had.) I should have been afraid, but I wasn't -- partly because I had no time to be afraid, partly because I trusted my instructor, and partly because I really, really wanted to do this.
Within an hour, she was taking me up on a ski lift -- in blustering, blizzard conditions. I wished I could have taken photographs with my phone, but I did not want to drop it -- or to lose a ski pole. I took it all in -- the forest, the snow, the mountain and all of its mysteries.
I began to cry. I was so moved by the beauty of it, and by the fact that I was doing something that I had always believed was not for me. We reached the top and I began skiing down -- and I could do it. And it was so beautiful, with big, fat snowflakes falling all around.
I cried once more on the way down, and again as I said goodbye to my instructor. I told her that she had changed my life -- not just because I can now ski, but because I had confronted a lifelong fear. The sun came out; we flew back to L.A. 2 hours later, transformed.
Today's episode is devoted to the second anniversary of the October 7 terror attacks. It was produced before the announcement of a ceasefire deal, yet remains current & relevant.
Please listen, and #bringthemhome.
SiriusXM Patriot 125, 7-10 p.m. ET (4-7 PT)
This week's portion is a beautiful poem, containing the Covenant between God and the people of Israel. But given the breaking news that Hamas may actually have agreed to release all of the Israeli hostages, I will devote my remarks to that.
One hopes it is true; if so, it makes this week's additional reading, from II Samuel 22, even more relevant: David's song of praise to the Lord for delivering him from the hand of his enemies.
"18 He rescued me from my powerful enemy,
from my foes, who were too strong for me.
19 They confronted me in the day of my disaster,
but the Lord was my support."
So much to focus on this week -- and much breaking news. A peace deal in the Middle East, perhaps? Eric Adams dropping out of the mayor's race? And a looming shutdown as Democrats push their demands beyond absurdity.
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